Partners
by Nora May French
Summary: A John Doe is brought into General Hospital without much chance of survival.  Dante is called in to investigate.  AU
1. Day of the Pig

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters in this work of fiction.

**A/N**: Extremely AU

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Day of the Pig

Bullets whizzed past his ear as Johnny dove for cover. Adrenaline in overdrive, he hid behind the rear wheel of the police cruiser, barely avoiding a shot aimed for his head. Just as he managed to slip behind the insufficient shelter of the vehicle, one of the thugs called out to him, "Johnny boy, ain't nowhere you can hide. Might as well just make it easy on yourself and die like the vermin that you are!"

He had his own weapon out and, taking a quick peek around the tail of the bullet-riddled car, brought his gun to bear. Cursing his lack of a good shot as bullets continued to hail down around him, he fired off a few quick rounds, unsure of whether they had met their mark or not, and ducked back behind his inadequate sanctuary.

Heart pumping, his hands shook slightly with the knowledge that this could very well be 'it' for him, he could buy it in an indiscriminate back alley and no one would mourn his passing. He'd broken it off with Olivia when he'd decided to become a cop a year ago. He hadn't wanted to drag her through the hell that he'd known his life would become once he'd irrevocably switched sides. His father, the psychopath, had already, for all intents and purposes, disowned him years before and Claudia, the reason he'd decided to join the 'good guys' in the first place, was dead. He was alone in this world and would be leaving it without anyone who cared to notice.

From the moment he'd set foot in the police academy, it seemed that everyone had set themselves up against him. Not something he was unfamiliar with, having grown up with Anthony Zacchara's rather unique style of parenting. He'd gritted his teeth when he was ridiculed and hazed, enduring everything they'd thrown his way in their failed, yet creative attempts to force him to quit.

He was grateful that, in all that his father had done to him, he'd learned to be a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who didn't quit when the going got tough. Developing such a thick skin had served him well. He had made no friends at the academy and had none in his precinct. He lived in a tiny apartment in the inner city where no one noticed his comings or goings.

As a bullet tore past his protective barrier and slammed into the brick wall inches away from his face in the alley he was crammed into behind Larry's Bar on Fifteenth and Carey, he closed his eyes and wished, not for the first time in the past several months, that Jason Morgan and not the incompetent, overweight partner he'd been assigned to, was here to back him up. He could have used the mobster's stone cold, calm demeanor on a number of occasions as his partner always seemed to find some way to absent himself from the action.

Even now, Johnny was alone, under a firestorm, bullets raining down around him. His partner, Gregory Vance, was nowhere in sight. Though, considering the man had set him up, Johnny wasn't all that surprised. He doubted very much that his shooting would get more than a cursory glance at best before it was chalked up to him being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not like his death would really be that much of a loss by their standards.

They saw him as a nuisance cop wannabe who would turn his back on the force if the money was right. It was ironic, in a way, that his death would be a cheap reflection of his past, of the life that he'd always wanted to run away from, but had not had the guts to until Officer Dante Falconari botched the case against Sonny Corinthos, making him a marked man, forcing him out of the mob.

"Park 'er in the alley," Gregory had ordered him. "I gotta check up on somethin'. Be right back."

Johnny hated having to take orders from the inept senior officer, it grated on his nerves when he ordered him about like a lackey, but he gritted his teeth and squeezed the police car into the alley. "Should I call for backup?" He'd asked.

"Nah just got some business to attend to," Gregory had waved him off and sauntered in the direction of the main street.

Johnny should have known that something was up when Gregory left him alone in the alley. He had his suspicions that the man was on the take. The older officer, close to retirement, had too much money at his disposal and was dumb enough to flaunt it. He'd been overly chummy throughout the morning as well, a sure sign that should have tipped him off, as his reluctant partner, paired with him only because no one else wanted to be partners with a former mobster, was normally quiet and gruff.

Instead of exercising caution, he'd leaned against the police cruiser, waiting for Gregory to return, picking absentmindedly at a piece of lint on his otherwise impeccably clean black and white uniform. A shadow encroached upon the entrance to the alley and he'd looked up just in time to take cover as Jimmy Vincino, one of his father's former goons, stepped into the alley.

He was joined seconds later by two other men whom Johnny knew only too well. Paulie and Vinnie, men who were called in when there was a need to get a job done no matter the mark or the risk. They were the best at their game and were known for their sure aim. That's when he knew that he wouldn't be getting out of this alive, that Gregory had signed his death warrant. He wondered, humorlessly, how much the man had been paid to turn him over to the mob. The irony of his situation was not lost on him and he laughed bitterly in spite of his dire circumstances.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Johnny Zacchara, the traitor," Jimmy'd spat. "Even your worthless partner knew that trash like you was worth more dead than alive. The fat slob set this whole thing up for far less than your dear father would have been willing to pay. He should've held out for more, but what do I know? Guess police salaries ain't enough to keep a working man honest."

The first bullet fired grazed his cheek; Johnny raised his own weapon and fired an aimless shot as he frantically, yet cool-headedly weighed his options. Deciding that he was not going down without a fight, he hunkered down, knowing that eventually the men would close in on him, and, if he was lucky, he might be able to take out one or two of them before they got him. Either way, he was going to do his damndest to make sure that when Jimmy reported back to Sonny and his father that the man would have to say that he'd not gone quietly. It was a matter of pride.

With this thought in mind, Johnny, realizing that he was just cowardly delaying the inevitable, moved out from his sketchy protection behind the police car, firing every shot his revolver held as he stood with a look of defiance on his face. All three hit men took careful, exact aim and fired as one.

He never knew whether or not any of his own shots hit their mark as three bullets simultaneously tore into his flesh. One wrenched his shoulder, causing his gun to fall forgotten to the littered floor of the alley. Another ripped, like molten lava, through his belly. The final bullet sent him flying back into the brick wall, knocking him unconscious as it punched its way mercilessly into his skull.

No final words or prayers to God begging for another chance at life to make things right had been afforded him. Johnny's body lay broken and bleeding in the darkened alley, his heart pumping blood out rapidly through the three precise holes puncturing it, lungs laboring at dragging in oxygen in a futile attempt to keep their oblivious host alive.

Jimmy Vincino walked over to the fallen officer and took a picture with his Polaroid camera. He needed proof that the job had been done to get his money and there was no way in hell Anthony's kid would survive this. Blood had already made a rather large pool beneath his head. With a satisfied grimace, he kicked the dying officer in the ribs and spit on him before gesturing for his comrades to join him.

Johnny Zacchara was not long for this world and Jimmy debated whether or not to end his life quickly or let his body shut down slowly and systematically on its own. He stooped, slapping the cop in the face and smiled at the lack of response the act received. Yeah, the kid was as good as dead and Anthony would wholly approve of the suffering his son would endure, hopefully he would wake up before the end, just enough to feel his last breaths come and go and to panic when he realized that his lungs were failing to cooperate. He wanted good ol' Johnny Zacchara's lungs to sear with the pain, gasping for air like a fish washed up on shore.

"He ain't gonna last long like that," Paulie stated as he watched the uneven rising and falling of Johnny's chest. Air bubbled in the bullet hole which pierced his stomach as blood seeped in a small rivulet from the gaping wound.

"Think we ought to leave 'im like this, let him suffer a little?" Jimmy asked. The other two shrugged. It really mattered very little to them how Johnny Zacchara, former mob prince, died. What mattered was that they'd accomplished the job for which they'd been paid.

Jimmy snapped another photograph as Johnny's body shuddered dramatically, his lungs endeavoring to keep the dying man alive even as they increasingly failed him. Brushing the hair out of the fallen officer's eyes, Jimmy stripped him of his badge and wallet, gesturing for Paulie to retrieve the dropped service revolver.

"Live like a pig, die like one," Vinnie added.

Grateful that the city turned a deaf ear to violence, as Johnny's police issued revolver hadn't had a silencer on it as their own weapons had, the three pocketed their weapons and walked out into the warm afternoon sunshine, content with the knowledge that they'd killed a turncoat.

Now all they had left to do was take care of the greedy bastard cop whose palm had been much too easy to grease, and make it look as though the two officers had killed each other, the former mobster turning on his partner who killed the rookie cop in self-defense. They'd save their bosses precious money and future headaches by cleaning up that particular loose end.

It was a good day for the mob. Whistling, Vinnie approached Gregory, laying his arm across the man's shoulder as though they were pals of longstanding, he led him into the alley. The man never heard the bullet that entered his temple, though his eyes went wide as he gazed down at Johnny's bullet pierced frame. Blood seeped from the wounds; the kid was bleeding like a stuck pig. He might not have liked the punk, but no officer deserved to go down like that, was Gregory Vance's final thought as irrevocable darkness took hold, and the officer's waning light was snuffed out for good.

Paulie and Jimmy arranged the bodies so that their positions would corroborate the story of the shootout between the cops their 'witness' would give the police half an hour from now. Jimmy snapped another picture, and the three left the two officers behind without a backward glance. They made a single call, grunted an affirmative to the question asked by the other party and drove away, oblivious to the lone figure standing at the mouth of the alley, hidden by the shadow of the building, who'd witnessed everything at the end.


	2. John Doe Request

For disclaimer, see initial chapter.

A/N: Extremely AU

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John Doe Request

Dante Falconari sighed heavily as he stood from his desk at the Port Charles Police Department. It had been a day filled with an almost endless amount of dull, mind-numbing paperwork. When he'd signed on with the PCPD at Mac's behest, he hadn't realized that he'd be relegated to the position of desk jockey pencil pusher after a botched case. The few cases he had worked on had been well beneath his considerable skills and he felt that his talents were being wasted. He missed being on the front lines where the action was in spite of the constant danger it put him in.

It had been a year since he'd taken the position offered by Mac. A year filled with heartache and change as he'd come to grips with the fact that his father was a man who embodied everything he despised in the world and then some. A year since he'd learned that his mother had spent the majority of her adult life lying to him on the pretense of protecting him. In the end, her lies had nearly cost him his life.

He'd quickly forgiven her for her lies, but found it difficult to completely trust her again. Their relationship had suffered because of his mother's deception, and, though he wanted to not only forgive her, but forget, the latter was by far the harder thing to do. Every time he thought about his mother, his thoughts were tainted by this single, deadly act of silence on her part and it hurt.

He could still feel an ache in his chest where the bullet from his father's gun had slammed into it. Rubbing at the phantom pain, he frowned as his chest stung in remembrance of the incident which had torn his life apart and sent it into a downward spiral.

Though more than a year had passed, he still avoided Sonny, refusing to even talk with him. He'd even tried to help the man when he was certain that he'd been guilty in a car bombing incident meant to take Johnny's life, but which had ended up harming his own daughter, Kristina. But it had done no good. Sonny was intent on continuing on in his dubious ways and Dante had found that he could only turn a blind eye to the man's actions so many times before it made him despise himself. He was a cop, not his father's puppet.

Michael had even lived with him for a time, though he hadn't been doing Sonny a favor with that, it had been his penance for inadvertently getting Michael sent to prison when he'd insisted that he tell the truth about what had happened to Claudia Zacchara. His plan had backfired and he hated what it had done to Michael and that he'd had a part in causing him even more pain.

It was hard work eluding Sonny these days, being as he now lived and worked in Port Charles, but he made every effort to do so, delighting in the pain it seemed to cause the mobster. The man deserved as much pain as he could dish out.

His growing bitterness had driven a wedge between himself and Lulu. Everything he did was centered on bringing Sonny down after the man had gone after Johnny yet again and driven the man out of town, almost taking the life of an innocent bystander in the process. He practically ate and slept vengeance and Lulu had been patient at first. She had been understanding and helpful and had done everything she could, short of gunning Sonny down herself, but in the end, it just hadn't worked out for either of them.

He knew that he'd closed her out of his life, much as he had his mother. He threw himself wholly into his work and avoided both women nearly with the same precision he avoided Sonny. Neither his mother nor Lulu had given up on him, but he had cut them out and refused to share his life with either of them. He would not bring them down into his little version of Hades regardless of how much it hurt them or him.

Shortly after Lulu had moved out, Michael had made his escape. He couldn't blame the kid, and was grateful that Jason had agreed to take him in, even though he'd had his reservations about the suitability of the placement at first. Jason was a good man, knew right from wrong, black from white. Was able to make difficult decisions in a moment and support them through to the end. He respected and admired the man even though he was a cold-blooded killer who didn't particularly like him and would just as soon see him dead as alive.

He'd known that Lulu would get over him eventually and here it was, eight months after he'd broken it off with her, and she was getting married to some adventurous pilot she'd met on her trip to Europe. The very trip her father had sent her on to keep her from moping about their breakup. Dante scanned the wedding announcement once again, sorrow tugging at his heart over his loss, and yet he was happy for her. The smile on her face was radiant and there was a twinkle in her eye that could not be diminished even with the subdued colors of the newspaper announcement. There was no doubt in his mind that she was in love with the man she would be marrying in less than a week's time.

"Hold on Officer Falconari," Mac flagged him down before he could make it out of the office.

"My shift's over." In fact his shift had been over an hour ago, he just hadn't relished the idea of returning to his one room apartment overlooking some nameless back alley. It was dark and drab and lifeless.

"I know, and I'm sorry to do this to you, but we got a John Doe that was dropped off at General Hospital about ten minutes ago with multiple gunshot wounds. They aren't sure he's going to make it, but I'd like you to be there to question him just in case he does," Mac's voice betrayed a hint of apology, "or if he has a moment of lucidity at some point in time. Besides, Nurse Johnson requested you." He clapped a hand on the younger officer's back.

"Wha…"

"I've worked in this town long enough to know that it is best to give Nurse Johnson what Nurse Johnson wants. She's got good instincts, seems to know which officer to request for which case. Don't ask me how," Mac interrupted Dante's protest with an upheld palm.

"Anything else I need to know?" Dante asked.

Mac shook his head and smiled. "When you're done with the John Doe, go home, the paperwork can wait until morning."

Dante nodded, grabbed a notepad and a pencil and headed out the door wondering why the strict, abrasive Epiphany Johnson had requested him to look into their latest John Doe rather than Lucky or Mac. Shaking his head, he walked to his car and pondered it on his way to the hospital, hoping that when he got there, the John Doe would still be alive and some of his questions would be answered.


	3. Casper Moon

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter

**A/N:** Extremely AU.

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Casper's Moon

Epiphany was bone weary dealing with the medical staff that was on this evening. Her shift had barely started and already, there had been a number of close calls and she'd had to step in to straighten things out when one of the interns had made a near fatal mistake. _Of course tonight would be a full moon_, she mused as she caught the ghostly shape of it, _bright as Casper himself_, out of the corner of her eye.

_And of course I would be stuck with the most incompetent of the incompetent and on one of the busiest nights we've had in a long time, _she shook her head, putting her hands on her hips as she stomped over to reprimand two of her doctors who had taken it upon themselves to argue about the care of a patient in the middle of a busy emergency room.

"Just what the hell do you two think you are doing?" She looked from one of them to the next. "We got a room here full of sick or injured people and you two _doctors_ have nothing better to do than get into some petty argument about who's ego is better than who's?" She looked each of them up and down with an air of disdain that effectively had them turning on their heels and getting back to work.

Her job wouldn't nearly be as exhausting as it was if she didn't have to babysit the doctors and could just attend to the patients' needs. At least even the newbies knew better than to argue with her and responded to her scolding by obeying her orders immediately. It did help move things along as smoothly as possible.

"Got a John Doe dropped off at the entrance, guy drove off 'fore we could get a good look at him or what he was drivin', looks like multiple gunshot wounds, one to the abdomen, one to the shoulder and there's a headshot wound as well. Doesn't look good," Adam, one of the EMTs that Epiphany could actually stand, rattled off as he rolled what appeared to be a corpse through the emergency doors.

The man lying on the gurney was whiter than the bloodied sheets beneath him. Epiphany strode over to the gurney, waving an intern and another nurse over to join her as she assessed the wounded man.

"He even alive?" Her tone was incredulous as she took in the appearance of the drop and run. The man looked like a victim of one of them movie fashioned serial killers and as though he had no blood left in him to bleed.

Adam nodded, not breaking stride as they made their way to one of the ER rooms. "Barely, guy's lost a lot of blood, could be internal damage, pulse is weak and thready, respiration's irregular. By all accounts," he raised his blue eyes to meet Epiphany's, "he should already be dead. Looks to me like these wounds are several hours old. I'll notify the police and have them send someone over."

"At least whoever brought him here had the foresight to staunch the flow of blood and put some makeshift bandages on him before carting him from God knows where to my emergency room," she was already removing the odds and ends which had been used to sop up the blood, pursing her lips and shaking her head the whole time.

When she'd managed to unwrap the blood-soaked Metallica tee-shirt from around young man's head, she drew in a sharp breath of recognition. The boy was thinner than she'd last seen him and sporting what appeared to be a police uniform from a suburb which was a good three hours away, but if she wasn't mistaken, she was looking at the deathly pale face of Johnny Zacchara, infamous son of the crazy mobster, Anthony Zacchara.

"Adam," she called after the EMT who was already halfway out of the room, "I'll make that call to the police department, looks like we're going to be hopping around here, there's no reason for you to be wasting your time on somethin'I can handle. Besides, it doesn't look like our John Doe here will be shedding much light on whatever it was that happened to him anytime soon." _If ever._

"Appreciate it Nurse Johnson," Adam nodded and smiled, waving as he headed out the double-doors of the hospital. Epiphany was willing to bet that he already had another call.

"Nurse Smith, would you mind paging doctors Scorpio and Drake?" She turned to the young nurse who was staring at the patient with a look that was an odd mixture of horror and awe. She nodded her head as though in shock and eagerly left the room to carry out her orders.

"Go get Nurse Webber," Epiphany shooed an equally horrified young intern from the room.

The young man bobbed his head in agreement and fairly ran out of the room, leaving Epiphany alone with her patient. She hastily pressed two fingers to her patient's neck, checking for a pulse that she wasn't sure she'd be able to find, all the while plotting how best to keep his identity under wraps.

She didn't want her emergency room to become the scene of a bloodbath or a mob hit. She wasn't sure what had driven Johnny Zacchara from Port Charles a little over a year ago, but doubted that it would be a good thing if Sonny Corinthos and Jason Morgan were to learn that he was back in town, regardless of the strange events surrounding how he'd come to be here.

A single heartbeat thumped against her fingers and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You just hang in there," she whispered fiercely, not sure why she felt so strongly about the haggard young man lying at death's door. "We'll get you back on your feet in no time," she promised, gripping a limp hand tightly in her own.

"What do we got here?" Patrick slid into the room, clearly out of breath; apparently Nurse Smith had really lit a fire under him. His eyes traveled from Epiphany to the patient and he immediately moved to examine the head wound. His brows furrowed in concern.

"When was this patient brought in?" His eyes darted up to Epiphany's.

"Couple a minutes ago," she answered curtly.

"We need to prep him for surgery stat," Patrick quickly took stock of the other gunshot wounds. Turning to Robin just as she walked into the room, he ordered, "We'll need an internist at least and I'd like to have an orthopedic surgeon in to consult on the shoulder injury. I'd like to get a CT scan first and we'll need to hang a couple of bags of O, unless you've got a blood type for our John Doe?"

Patrick turned back to Epiphany who shook her head. She had no idea what Johnny's blood type was and doubted they had much time to look it up. She went to work immediately and followed Patrick's orders without comment.

Nurse Webber came in shortly after, as they were wheeling the gurney down the hall where the patient would get a CT before being brought directly to surgery. Conditions weren't ideal, but if they didn't act quickly, he had no chance of survival.

A half an hour later, while Johnny was being prepped for surgery, Epiphany drew doctors Drake and Scorpio as well as Nurse Webber aside.

"That John Doe look familiar to any of you?" She asked in a terse whisper. All three shook their heads. They hadn't been looking at the patient, so much as scrutinizing and categorizing his injuries.

"The reason I paged you three is because that young man in there," she pointed through the glass window housing the operating room Johnny was currently awaiting surgery in, "is gonna need a whole lot of discretion. No one and I mean no one," she pierced them all with an intense glare, "can let it slip that the John Doe in there is Johnny Zacchara. I don't know what happened to drive him out of Port Charles, but I ain't gonna have one of my staff be the cause of his death because they can't keep their mouths shut. Is that understood?"

Elizabeth's jaw dropped in disbelief, her eyes searching Epiphany's face for some hint of a joke, and finding none, she nodded her agreement. She'd only been dimly aware of the events surrounding Sonny's arrest, Dante's shooting, and the disappearance of Johnny Zacchara as own her life had been spiraling out of control at the time. Looking back, she only had a vague recollection of the circumstances of her own breakdown, let alone anything else that had happened a year ago.

Patrick stared through the plate glass window as though trying to ascertain whether Epiphany was speaking the truth or not, before he turned around to face her. The last time he'd withheld an identity from someone it had nearly cost that young man his life and had driven a wedge between a father and his son. He wasn't sure that he was willing to go down that same road again.

"I'm not asking you to do anything that I ain't willing to do myself," she held the doctor's eyes as she spoke, "and this ain't nothing like what happened with Dante and Sonny. If we don't keep his identity under wraps, it could cost him his life."

"I'm not even sure he'll make it through the next half hour," Patrick sighed before reluctantly nodding.

"Robin?" Epiphany turned toward the petite young doctor who happened to be pretty good friends with Jason Morgan, Sonny Corinthos' known enforcer.

"I don't like keeping secrets," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and biting her bottom lip, "and though I hate to say it, I think you might be right on this. I have no idea what kind of falling out Johnny had with Sonny and Jason, but I don't think either of them would be happy to see him back in Port Charles."

Relieved, Epiphany smiled and exhaled audibly.

"You do your best to save that young man in there, you hear me?" She charged them before turning on her heel to make a phone call which could cause her well laid plans to come crashing down. _Why on earth do I care what happens to a former mobster? _She shook her head as she placed a call to the PCPD. _It just don't make no earthly sense._


	4. Fingers Crossed

Disclaimer: See first chapter

A/N: AU of an extreme nature.

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Fingers Crossed

Dante didn't know what he'd been expecting when Mac told him Nurse Johnson had requested his presence at the hospital for a John Doe with multiple gunshot wounds, but it certainly wasn't being ushered into one of the uncomfortable chairs in a quiet corner of the lounge to wait while the nameless victim went through several hours of surgery. He could really use some sleep right about now.

After an hour of sitting in the chair he'd all but been dumped into by the harried nurse, he stood and stretched, fully intending to give her a piece of his mind before taking his leave and asking to be called if the wounded man made it out of surgery alive. From what he'd heard, and the looks that Epiphany had cast in his direction from time to time as she busied herself about the hospital, he doubted that the man would make it through the next hour let alone the night.

From the little that Epiphany had told him, he'd learned that the John Doe had been dropped off at the entryway of the emergency room by someone who hadn't even bothered to actually bring him into the ward itself. Apparently he'd been wounded hours earlier, "…if blood loss were anything to account for…" as Epiphany had said. He shook his head as he recalled the terse, almost accusatory way in which she'd answered his questions.

_He'd been shot three times, once in the head, the shoulder and the gut. Damn, he should be dead. No, she didn't know who he was, had never seen him before in her life. No she hadn't gotten a license plate for the drop and run; she had a hospital to run, not a daycare center and couldn't bother herself to do work that he himself should be doing. She wasn't a cop. Dr. Drake was working on him at the moment and, though it didn't look promising, if anyone could help out the poor man, it would be him._

For every answer she'd given him, he had ten more questions and had finally given up on questioning her further when she walked away for the tenth time to deal with some incompetent intern who "…didn't know how to tell the difference between his ass and his head…"

The most probing question on his mind was why him? Why had she asked for him, rather than Mac or Lucky? He hadn't even been with the PCPD for a full year yet. What was it about this case that had Nurse Johnson requesting him specifically? It was a question that he had not gotten an answer for yet, though in all honesty, it was a question he had heretofore been negligent to ask, having had far more pressing questions to ask at the onset.

He arched his back, trying to work out a particularly bothersome kink when Nurse Johnson caught his eye and gestured at him impatiently to follow her. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he complied, hoping to get some answers. If he didn't, he'd show the nurse where she could shove her attitude.

He followed her down the all too familiar white corridor and into a darkened room. At the end of his rope, he rounded on her.

"Just what the hell is this all about? Why all the mystery?"

Epiphany pursed her lips angrily and put a hand on her hip as she flipped the light switch, flooding the room in a calm bright light.

"Officer Falconari," she wagged a finger in his face, "mind your tongue."

"Look," Dante began. He was tired, his body ached from being cramped in such a small space for three hours and he'd been off the clock before he'd been asked to go to the hospital. Nothing was making much sense to him and he was ready to hand the case off to one of the officers who was actually on duty, having had enough of being pushed around by the heavy-handed nurse. "I don't know what's going on or why you requested me, but unless I get some answers, I'm going home. Either call another officer in or call me when the victim makes it out of surgery so I can question him."

Epiphany simply glared at him and brushed past him angrily. Dante stared after her, wondering if she was going to answer him or not. Instead, she grabbed up a remote from the hospital bed stand and flicked it at the TV.

"That is what's going on," she pointed at the TV which she'd flipped to a local news station.

_Further development on the shootout that occurred at three o'clock this afternoon, leaving one officer dead and the other missing, has lead the authorities to believe that Officer Gregory Vance's partner_ (a picture of a body wrapped neatly in a body bag, in an alley flashed across the screen)_, Johnny Zacchara, son of mobster Anthony Zacchara, shot and killed his partner in cold blood before fleeing the city. He is considered armed and dangerous _(a headshot of a smiling Johnny Zacchara could be seen just over the anchor's shoulder); _if you know anything about his whereabouts contact the police immediately, do not approach him, once again, he is armed and considered highly dangerous…_

Epiphany turned the TV off as abruptly as she'd turned it on and swiveled to face Dante. "Want to know how I know Johnny Zacchara didn't do what the authorities are claiming he did?"

Dante nodded dumbly, knowing where this was going, yet needing to hear the words from the nurse who stood stiffly in front of him.

"'Cause that young man is currently taking up a room in my OR and two of my best doctors and one of my best nurses are doing their damndest to try and keep him alive. That man," she gesticulated vehemently, "was shot pointblank three times and it is a miracle that he's still alive. Now I don't know what happened to his partner, but I do know that the time of the shooting is all off for Johnny to have done it because, what with the blood loss and the amount of time it would've taken for our concerned citizen do-gooder to cart him all the way over here, it would be impossible. Someone else shot that other officer and Johnny is being framed for the murder." She let out a pent up burst of air at the end of her speech and looked at Dante, willing for him to believe her, hoping that she'd made the right decision in asking for him rather than Lucky.

"What time did you say he was brought in?"

"About three hours ago now," Epiphany crossed her fingers.

"Making it about five thirty when he was dropped off and it takes about two and a half hours to get to Port Charles," he mentally worked out the math and concluded that Epiphany was correct. "But why ask for me?"

"Because, when that boy wakes up, he's gonna need people on his side who he can trust and, if I judged you correctly, you will do right by him. The real question here, Officer Falconari," Epiphany eyed him coolly, "is whether or not I judged correctly. Will you keep Johnny Zacchara's identity a secret? I can tell you right now that if certain people find out he's returned to Port Charles, that boy's life won't be worth the bullets currently being dug out of him."


	5. No Longer Alone

Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

A/N: Extremely AU.

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No Longer Alone

If anyone asked him what he'd been thinking when he'd agreed to the plan Epiphany had concocted to keep Johnny Zacchara safe, he didn't know if he'd be able to rightfully tell them. Everything after Epiphany's, as she insisted he call her, revelation was a blur to him.

On the plus side, he was no longer sitting in the uncomfortable, butt-numbing orange plastic chair. On the downside, he'd just agreed to keep a wanted man's identity a secret and could possibly, once again, be asked, and rightfully so, for his resignation. Epiphany, however, could be quite convincing and given the fact that Johnny had indeed been shot down like an animal, if his injuries were anything to be judged by, he agreed that the young man had more than likely been framed for the murder of his partner.

That is how he found himself half-dozing in a dimly lit hospital room in a slightly more comfortable armchair than he'd been afforded earlier, waiting for Johnny to be wheeled out of surgery rather than in his nice, comfortable bed in his nice, cozy apartment. Epiphany had ensured that Johnny would have a private room in which to recover, and she was determined that he _would _recover if she had to rain the wrath of god down upon his head herself.

Dante was woken from his half-sleep state as a plain white hospital bed was wheeled into the room accompanied by Patrick, Robin and Elizabeth. All three were speaking rapidly in hushed tones. The figure lying on the bed was silent and still. He was attached to far too many machines for Dante to actually see the man amidst all of the tubes and IVs.

"Officer Falconari," Patrick sounded startled to see him there, "our patient isn't up for any questioning just yet. The next few days will be crucial for determining his survival. If he makes it through the next couple of hours, his chances of surviving the week will increase greatly. He's in a medically induced coma and I won't be letting up on the meds for at least a week, provided that he survives that long. I'll give you a call when he's up for questioning." Patrick spoke dismissively, pointedly looking at the door. Great, apparently Epiphany hadn't let the rest of the players in on her brilliant plan.

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed a hand over his face in an effort to erase some of the weariness he felt. It had been a long night, and, if he followed Epiphany's plan, he was going to be facing a virtually never ending string of nights. She wanted him to be an unofficial guard for Johnny during his off-hours. She was going to see about securing someone else to watch over the wounded man while he worked. She didn't think it would be good to leave him without protection. She'd even offered to pay him something from her scant salary, but he'd refused the money.

"I know," Dante responded tiredly.

He just wanted a bed, any bed, to lie in at this point. Hell, he'd take one of the hospital pillows and a blanket and make a bed on the floor and be happy just as long as he secured a few hours of much needed sleep before he had to report to work later on that morning.

"Epiphany asked me to be our special _John Doe's _unofficial bodyguard in the evenings, and, sleep deprivation being the first and foremost among a host of reasons why, I've agreed."

"So, you know who our John Doe is then?" Robin asked skeptically. She didn't know how she was going to keep this from Mac, she'd feel guilty every time she saw him, and she couldn't imagine Dante being able to face his police chief daily, and keep this kind of information from the man.

"Yeah, I know," Dante answered on a sigh, "and I'm prepared to do everything I can to make sure that he comes to no harm during his stay, however long that may be, at the hospital."

"Why?" Elizabeth raised a single eyebrow as she questioned the rumpled looking officer.

She was going to have a difficult time keeping this a secret herself. She might not see Lucky on a daily basis, but she saw him often enough when he picked up the boys on their weekly visits.

Dante walked over to the hospital bed and looked down at the emaciated body adorning it. Johnny looked like a shell of his former self, and that wasn't even including the lethal wounds which pockmarked his body. There were dark bruises beneath his eyes and his skin was chalky white. Red marred the pristine, white bandages covering the bullet wounds and a large patch of his head was bald where he'd had to be shaved for the surgery Patrick had performed.

"Because," he answered, not looking at the three hovering just behind him.

He took a breath to finish his thought and came up empty. He shrugged. He'd agreed to watch over Johnny, just because. That was good enough for him and it would have to do for the others. The truth was that he didn't really understand why he'd agreed to Epiphany's plan. She was an indomitable force, but, that wasn't it entirely.

For some reason, looking at Johnny in his current state tugged at something in his gut. His heart and jaw clenched as he thought of how the man was being framed. Last he'd heard, Johnny had turned his life around, become one of the 'good' guys. He didn't deserve to be wasting away in a hospital bed, shot down like a dog in the street and then framed for the murder of his partner.

He brushed a stray hair from Johnny's forehead and tenderly traced a faint scar along the man's hairline which had come from an earlier injury. It looked like he'd been cut with a broken beer bottle or maybe a switchblade. Dante frowned as he contemplated how the young man had obtained the now healed, and possibly forgotten, injury.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned to the others and let out a relieved breath as he saw acceptance and understanding mirrored on their faces. Something about the grievously wounded man in their midst had awakened a protective instinct in all of them. Johnny, completely unaware of his surroundings, was no longer alone. He had a force to be reckoned with on his side; all he had to do was make it through the night.


	6. The Chosen Four

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter

A/N: Extremely AU.

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The Chosen Four

Epiphany slipped in through the door as quietly as she could. She stood and watched the four people she'd singlehandedly chosen to care for the broken officer and smiled contentedly. She'd chosen correctly. It had been hard for her to make these split-second decisions, yet she knew that, ultimately it was in God's hands, and that, as she trusted in Him, He would direct her steps. He'd never let her down before and it looked as though He hadn't let her down now.

She closed the door solidly behind her, garnering the attention of her chosen four. She held the gaze of each of them in turn and then nodded to herself. Pursing her lips, she addressed the people entrusted to Johnny's care for the next foreseeable future, "Is everyone on board with this?"

They all nodded as one and she grinned back at them. All she had left to do was procure someone to watch over the former mobster during the day. She ran a mental checklist through her mind of possible guards. Olivia was an obvious choice, but she might be far too emotional and tip her hand, though, with her son running night duty, she might be the best choice...perhaps Ethan would be a better choice? Hadn't he and Johnny been in cahoots when Johnny'd still been in Port Charles? She'd have to put some more thought into it. Not just anyone would do.

"Good," she nodded almost to herself, "we'll have to wheel another bed in here for Officer Falconari. It won't do Johnny a bit of good if he falls over dead tired on us. I trust that you are a light sleeper?"

Dante nodded in response, resisting the urge to moan at the thought of a bed. He was about ready to crawl into bed with Johnny, regardless of the tubes and various doohickeys attached to him. The bed was big enough for two people; he'd be mindful of the equipment and take extra care not to jar the comatose man. Johnny wouldn't even be aware of his unorthodox bedmate.

He doubted, however, that Epiphany would be appreciative of where his thoughts had taken him. He shuddered as he considered what form her anger would take were he to make good on his exhausted contemplations. A bed of his own was not only a necessity, but would be a godsend.

"I'll sleep with a gun tucked beneath the pillow," he assured the intrepid nurse.

"And you three," she turned her attention to the hospital staff, "will keep your tongues from wagging and your lips firmly glued shut if you value working at General Hospital." She glared at each of them, daring them to doubt her sincerity.

Dr. Webber might be chief of staff, but Nurse Johnson was the head nurse. She could make them miserable beyond belief and have them begging to quit were she to put her mind to it. They'd keep quiet.

"He doesn't deserve this, no matter what he might have done in the past," Patrick spoke wearily.

"How did his surgery go?" Epiphany could have looked at the doctor's notes, but wanted it straight from the horse's mouth.

"As well as could be expected," Patrick let out a heavy breath, "he lost a lot of blood and we found some internal bleeding which was patched up fairly quickly; thankfully we found the source of the bleeding early. The damage to his shoulder was minimal, but he'll have to go through physical therapy to regain full use of it once he recovers."

"And his head?" Dante asked from his resumed seated position in the bedside chair.

He ignored the glare Epiphany sent in his direction. The gauze surrounding the man's head with little tufts of hair sticking out of it was a bit daunting and Dante worried about what it might mean for the man. Would he remain a vegetable for the rest of his life or wake up mentally retarded or amnesiac?

"The bullet was lodged in his skull and didn't perforate the brain, but his brain is severely bruised from the impact of the bullet. There was bleeding on the brain as well; I had to go in and relieve pressure and stop the bleeding. From what the CT scan showed, I would guess that his slammed against a hard surface as well. It is too early to tell what, if any, permanent brain damage he might have. We will have to wait until he wakes up to determine the extent of the damage to his brain."

"Worst case scenario?" Epiphany once again took up the line of questioning.

Blowing a piece of unruly hair from his eyes, Patrick took a deep breath, running the different possibilities through his mind before speaking.

"Worst case is that he never wakes up. The monitors indicate that he's not brain-dead, but that doesn't mean he won't remain in a perpetual coma. He could suffer from permanent, long or short term amnesia and will definitely suffer from temporary amnesia if he wakes up. He more than likely will not remember what happened to him," he shot a look at Dante who nodded tersely in acknowledgement that he might not get the answers he needed from Johnny.

"He could wake up severely mentally retarded. Due to acute damage to his occipital lobe, he could even wake up blind or experiencing an extreme change to his visual-perceptual system. There are a number of different scenarios, each one handicapping in its own right. I won't know anything until he wakes up."

"Fair enough," Epiphany acquiesced, "we'll do what we can and play it by ear. He ain't going anywhere anytime soon. And now," she gestured to her doctors and nurse, "it's time we attended to our other duties. Officer Falconari." She nodded at the officer who sagged in the chair, he could barely keep his eyes open. "I'll have an intern wheel a bed in for you."

"Thank you." He yawned and glanced at his watch.

Depending on how soon the bed was brought in, he might just get a couple hours of sleep before beginning his next shift. He wondered who Epiphany would have waiting to take over Johnny-watch when he left the hospital later that morning.

Some feedback would be nice. Thanks.


	7. The Chosen Fifth and an Unknown Sixth

Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

A/N: AU. Thank you for those who've submitted unsigned reviews.

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The Chosen Fifth and an Unknown Sixth

Ethan glowered at his cellphone, flipping it open as it began its incessant ringing once again. He looked at the display screen, the numbers, blurry in his half-awake state, read 4:30 AM. Swearing, he hit the talk button and growled incomprehensibly into the phone, pulling it back from his ear at the acerbic response his less than thrilled greeting had rendered from the speaker.

"Who the hell is this?" He asked groggily when the speaker had ceased her angry litany.

"Watch your tone with me Mr. Lovett," the angry hen on the other end of the line scolded and Ethan glared at his cellphone.

The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but he was too tired to think straight. He'd had a late night at the casino and had rolled into bed not two full hours ago. He was, in short, exhausted.

Grinding his teeth, he mustered as pleasant a voice as he could, wanting nothing more than to get to the bottom of who was calling him at this ungodly hour and then go back to sleep. His sense of proper etiquette would not allow him to simply hang up on the caller, though, if the woman's tone of voice was anything to go by, he'd bet that, were he to hang up, she would call right back and keep calling until he answered and heard her out.

"Sorry," he ground out, "may I ask who is calling?"

"Nurse Johnson, from General Hospital," the caller supplied.

Ethan recalled the nurse. She was outspoken, prickly and had made his stay at the hospital rather eventful and somewhat unpleasant when he'd insisted on leaving strictly before he should. Sighing he wondered why on earth she would be calling him at this hour. He'd been with his father until he'd gone to bed and Tracie was home safe and sound, that left Lulu, Lucky and Maya who was currently working at the hospital if he recalled correctly.

"Who's hurt?" His suddenly racing heart woke him up abruptly. "Is it Lulu or Lucky? Did something happen to Maya at work?"

"Your family's fine," Epiphany forced herself to remain patient. She tried to be understanding, knowing that she'd probably woken the man from a sound sleep, but was tired herself and wanted to secure someone to watch over Johnny during the day so that she could focus on her other duties before shift change.

"Then why are you calling me before the crack of dawn?" He managed to keep his tone civil as he spoke to the aggravating nurse.

"I need you to come down to the hospital as soon as you are able," she replied. She didn't want to reveal anything over the phone lest one of her staff members be listening in; doctors and nurses were gossips of the worst sort and she didn't want to add a log to the ever burning fire.

"How soon do you need me there?" Ethan asked around a yawn.

"How soon can you get here?" Epiphany wanted this wrapped up as soon as possible so that it would no longer be weighing on her conscience.

"Am I allowed a few hours' sleep first?" He groused, knowing he sounded like a petulant child and not caring.

"You can sleep once you get here," Epiphany countered.

"Fine, I'll be there in forty-five minutes to an hour," Ethan yawned audibly.

He was damned well going to take a shower first and maybe grab a cup of coffee on the way. Promised sleep or not, depending upon what the clandestine nurse had to say, he wanted to be prepared for what might await him upon his arrival at the hospital. He didn't quite trust that Epiphany had his best interests at heart, but was curious as to what she had in store for him. It could prove interesting.

"I'll meet you in room 315," Epiphany stated before hanging up.

Ethan stared at the dead phone for a few minutes before shaking himself awake and crawling out of bed to shower. _This had better be worthwhile_, he thought as he waited for the water to warm up.

Michael snuck into Jason's penthouse shortly after six, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he realized that neither Jason nor Spinelli was home yet. Their absence would hopefully give him plenty of time to clean up and make himself presentable before they returned from wherever it was they had gone.

He'd been staying in the weight room there for a few weeks now, no longer feeling comfortable at Dante's. He felt somewhat responsible for the breakup between Lulu and his older brother, though Dante insisted that it wasn't his fault, he hadn't truly believed him and had sought refuge at his uncle's. Jason had, somewhat reluctantly, taken him in and Spinelli had offered to let him use the 'regrettably pink room', but Michael had refused. He wasn't trying to replace Spinelli. He rather liked the 'ace of cyberspace' and got along with him fairly well.

Thankfully the judge had lifted the sanction that he not be allowed to see his father if he wanted to stay prison free a few months ago, making his new living arrangement possible. Jason's work with Dante had also helped matters some.

Though he could now see Sonny occasionally, and with supervision, he had only visited his father once. While he loved his father, he just didn't feel like seeing him much right now. He hadn't approved of some of the decisions he'd made with regard to his treatment of Kristina and Johnny. The truth was that his own father made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He shook his head as he recalled wanting to go into the business, follow in his father's footsteps, not too long ago. Now, he wanted nothing to do with any of it.

As a matter of fact his father was the reason he was returning home to the penthouse minus a few of his prized tee-shirts and other odds and ends and with a suspiciously copious amount of blood on his hands and clothing. He'd had the fortune, or maybe it was misfortune, he couldn't tell anymore, of overhearing one of his father's conversations with Jason. He hadn't meant to be eavesdropping, and yet, he hadn't been able to tear himself away when he'd heard Johnny's name mentioned.

The mobster had disappeared just under a year ago in the midst of a great deal of controversy that Michael hadn't understood the half of at the time. He hadn't really been paying attention. He'd been dealing with his own personal demons and hadn't had the energy to focus on much of anything else. Though his demons were by no means exorcised, even now, he had made some progress in dealing with them, and, when he'd overhead his father's plan, he'd felt sick and had been propelled into action.

He didn't particularly like Johnny, but he didn't hate the man either. He couldn't really hate him after having killed his sister in an act of blind rage. He could understand Johnny's anger; he'd been struggling with his own and was working on mastering it.

He couldn't, however, wrap his head around Anthony Zacchara's part in the hit that had been called in on his own son. Though he was ashamed that his father was going after Johnny yet again, he understood it, it was what Sonny did, like it or not, but for the man's own father to supply the hit men – that was just low.

So, Michael had done the only thing he could think of to do, he'd gone out to the suburbs to warn Johnny. Except he'd been too late and had discovered the man lying in a pool of cooling blood in the alley where he'd known the hit was going to take place.

He'd witnessed the cover up, had hidden in the shadows at the mouth of the alley and watched as the other cop was led to his death, like a lamb to the slaughter. After the men had left, he'd dashed into the alley, surprised that his frozen legs could carry his shaking body over to Johnny's. He ignored the other police officer lying dead on the other side of the cop car as he felt for a pulse on Johnny's neck, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt one, though it was faint.

He'd done his best to patch him up. He used some tee-shirts he'd packed for his move to Jason's which he had not yet moved into his new quarters, to sop up the blood and wrap around Johnny's head and shoulder wounds. He'd placed a balled up pair of boxers, the only thing he'd had left, on the stomach wound and tore up a towel to tie around it and hold it in place.

Not knowing what he should do, other than get him to a hospital, he'd driven, on autopilot, back to Port Charles. He hadn't even thought to drop him off at a hospital where he'd found him, had acted on instinct alone and that told him to get Johnny as far away from the scene of the crime as he possibly could. He knew, without knowing why, that Johnny would not be safe in a hospital there. The whole time he'd driven, he'd kept up a silent, repetitive prayer that Johnny wouldn't die in his car on the way to the hospital.

Once he'd made it to the front of the emergency doors at General Hospital, white-knuckled and trembling, he'd been too afraid to bring Johnny into the hospital himself. He didn't want to have to answer any questions, so, as gently as he could, he shoved Johnny out of the car. He sped out of the wraparound as quickly as he could, watching in the rearview mirror as an EMT rushed to take care of Johnny.

He didn't want to be forced to lie for his father's sake or take the blame for something he'd had nothing to do with and would be unable to explain away with anything other than the truth. He consoled himself, justifying his actions, by reasoning that he'd gotten Johnny to the hospital. He'd done his part, had done his best to fix his father's mistake. Hopefully Johnny would survive. If not, the man's blood would not be on his hands.

Michael stripped the bloodied clothing off, wincing as some of the fabric adhered to his skin and pinched as he prized it away. His skin itched and he felt dirtier than he'd ever felt before. His hands were covered in dried blood, and, as he worked out of his clothing it flaked off, like paint chips, falling to the tile floor. After he showered, he'd have to clean the bathroom with bleach and put his clothes in the washer right away. He eyed his jeans and black tee-shirt with a critical eye, _would the blood stains even come out of the jeans?_

He stepped into the shower, catching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he did so, and he shivered at the sight he made. Somehow he'd managed to get blood in his hair and on his face. If he'd have been pulled over on his flight to the hospital, he'd have been hard-pressed to make a case for his innocence. He looked like he'd bathed in Johnny's blood.

Turning the knob all the way to the left, he stood beneath the scalding water, scrubbing until the water ran cold and his flesh was pink from his concerted effort to make himself clean. He watched the water swirl down the drain, shuddering under the icy spray. There was still blood beneath his fingernails. He grabbed up the soap and dug his fingernails into it, raking them across it in an effort to remove the remnants of Johnny's blood from his person. Tears fell shamelessly down his face and were washed away by the steady stream of the water which continued to pelt him as he silently cried.


End file.
